A blade of profound agony impaled him. He couldn’t function. His father, his beloved father, murdered. Bitter acid rose in his mouth, etching the mucosa.
He should have been with his father, but instead, he’d been with Candace. Allah forgive him! When his father needed him most, he’d failed him.
Taj put an arm around his shoulder. “What are your immediate orders, Your Majesty?”
Your Majesty, how foreign those words now sounded. Those simple words. They had always applied to his father. He rebelled against them being used by anyone else. Even himself. He glanced over at Taj. “We must seal the border. If this is a wider attack, a coup, we need to be vigilant and keep all foreigners out of B’Quara’s business.” He heard himself issuing orders, but he wasn’t in command of that voice, he was on autopilot. He couldn’t get past the idea, the terrible truth. His beloved father was dead, dead at the hand of this Steve Forbes monster. How could this be possible? Someone pinch him, he had to be snared in a horrific nightmare.
“I agree,” Taj’s words snapped him out of his musings. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
When Taj left, Diyari dropped his face into his hands. Dear God, was he prepared for this? Not only was his father dead, his country could be at war, and he was in charge of keeping the populace safe.
Behind him, he heard the rustle of satin, and flinching, he spun around. Candace stood there, crying, tears streaming down her face. His eyes slid shut, his words rushing out as his emotions got the best of him. “My father is dead.”
Candace rushed to him. He enfolded her in his arms, held her tight as her tears soaked his shoulder.
“So, you’re king?” They both understood the magnitude of that simple statement. Not only had he lost his father tonight, he’d lost Candace as well. He tightened his hold on her. He needed her now. More than he ever needed anything in his entire life. “Officially I won’t be king until the coronation, but yes, I’m now the sole ruler of B’Quara.”
He tightened his hold on her, holding on to the only solid thing in his life as the world around him crumbled into dust.
~ ~ ~
The day after the king’s funeral, Candace waited until dark before sneaking out of the beach palace where she had shared so many wonderful memories since her arrival in B’Quara. The moonlight’s silvery glow reflected off the waves, coaxing the shore. She was ashamed to admit she’d purposely lied to her bodyguards so she could rendezvous with her replacement and hand him the USB with all the information she’d gathered about her mission before heading back to California. The lines in her forehead deepened. John Gray was recalling her. She really couldn’t blame him. Not after she’d failed miserably in her mission. According to the rumors, she’d be fired when she reached the US. She frowned. It was just as well. She no longer had the vital force it took to be an agent. No, too many people she loved died under the realm of intrigue. Nina’s wedding had been put on hold indefinitely until B’Quara recovered from this immense tragedy.
As she opened the door leading to the beach, the sound of the pounding waves filled her ears. The tide was coming in, inching its way toward the palace. Oh, how she longed for her beach house in Malibu. With thoughts of home, Diyari flashed in her mind. Embedded in the palace for his nightly meetings, she took this opportunity to take care of CIA business. Her last act here in B’Quara. The breeze blew her hair about her face and into her eyes. Before she could clear her vision, Steve Forbes grabbed her. Quickly his hand covered her mouth as the tip of his Ka-Bar knife nicked the tender flesh at her neck. Panic seized her. His elbow was crushing her windpipe, cutting off her airway.
She bit the hand across her mouth, hard, sinking her teeth deep into the flesh of the monster holding her. She wouldn’t be easy to kill. Not while she had an ounce of fight left in her. She turned her head to the side, freeing up her windpipe and gulped as much air as possible into her lungs. Steve Forbes drug her across the sand toward a waiting boat. She mustn’t allow him to pull her into the boat. If he did . . . she was dead. He produced an object from beneath his robes, and her heart sank to her toes as the moonlight glinted on a filled syringe. “It’s your turn to die, bitch.”
Not today, you asshole.
She clamped her teeth down again, sawing them back and forth into his flesh, ripping deep into his skin. He yelped, and she found herself free. She screamed with all her might, sprinting with every ounce of energy her body produced toward the palace. But Forbes was faster. He tackled her from behind, beating her in the face with his meaty fists as he pulled her up by the collar of her shirt. “I should have stabbed you and saved myself all this trouble.” She spat into his face. He reared back, smashing his fist into her head again and again. Blackness crept in from the corners of her visions. She was losing consciousness. Struggling to clear her mind, to remember her training. She wanted to rip this man to shreds. With a well-placed kick she landed to his groin, he released her, cursing her as he fell to the ground.
And then he gave her another reason to kill him.
“My hired men finally got Bobby in Istanbul,” he sneered, “They were supposed to kill you also, but they balked at killing a woman, so I missed my opportunity. You assholes left me to die in captivity.”
A red haze of fury pushed back the darkness of passing out. Her pinpoint focus narrowed on him as she fought to stay conscious. Memories of the night Bobby died filled her brain. She never wanted to kill a human being so bad in her life. Shock of the knowledge that this piece of shit killed her husband was almost too much for her to bear.
“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you and feed you to the sharks,” she spat.
“No, I will.” It was Diyari. Her savior. His deep voice smoothed over her like a cup of hot chocolate on a winter’s night. His men gathered behind him, encircling Steve Forbes. Without taking his eyes off of Forbes, Diyari placed his hands on Candace’s shoulders, turned her to look at her face, gasped at the damage, then pushed her into Taj’s arms. “He’s mine, do you hear me? No one is to interfere!” Diyari bellowed, with all the confidence of a seasoned warrior. One of his men flung him a similar-sized knife, he caught it, and a macabre dance of death began.
Diyari exhibited all the finesse of a fencing master. He taunted Forbes, teasing him as he continued to strike and parry. But Forbes held his ground, swiping his knife across Diyari’s stomach and laughing when blood began to ooze onto his robes. Candace gasped, and Taj cautioned her to remain quiet.
Diyari paid no attention to his wound, his gaze focused solely on Forbes as he continued to loop around him. Drops of sweat inched down his cheeks, but he ignored them, his gaze fixed solely on his enemy. With extreme patience, Diyari closed the circle, steadily toiling to draw Forbes in closer. “Nerves of steel,” Taj whispered into her ear. The pain in her face pumped with her accelerated pulse, but she refused to leave for medical attention. An act of God couldn’t move her from this spot. And then . . . Forbes slipped on the sand, losing his balance, and Diyari pounced. Gripping Forbes by his shoulder, he stabbed the knife into his gut, three, four, five times. So many times that Candace lost count. “This is for my father,” she heard Diyari spew, as Forbes’ blood spurted out onto the sand with alarming speed. “And for you touching Candace,” he said, wiping Forbes blood off the knife as Forbes breathed his last. Diyari spat on his body as his Black Scorpions surrounded him, patting him on the back.
Diyari walked toward her.
Handing his knife to Taj, he faced her. “What the hell were you doing out here alone, knowing this man might be out here and he wanted to kill you?”
He moved forward, his hand tilting her injured face up to determine the damage. “Do you know the depth of fear I felt when I heard you scream? My entire life flashed before my eyes.”
“I’m sorry. I was going to meet my replacement to hand him all the intel I gathered while here in B’Quara.
I’ve been recalled to the US,” Candace replied, gazing into his incredible eyes.
His face fell, as he swallowed hard. “Recalled. You’ve been recalled.”
“Yes.” She could barely get the word out. His medical team surrounded them, waiting to examine their injuries.
Diyari’s gaze bore into her as he continued to study her. “I don’t think I can let you go.”
A small smile creased her lips, “You’re about to set your wedding date. I’d only be in the way. It’s time for me to go.” Her voice shuddered, her chest heaved. How was she going to leave him? But leave him she must.
He brushed her lips with his in the most tender kiss he’d ever bestowed on her. “My heart is breaking. I can’t draw a breath. I need you. You are the love of my life. Don’t leave me.” The pleading in his voice fractured her will. Beyond space and time, she loved this man. Why were the fates so cruel?
She stared up into his eyes, “Tomorrow Princess Naomi and her father arrive to schedule your wedding date. I need to be gone before that occurs.”
He took a half-step backwards. “How do you know that? I’ve told no one.”
She managed a smile even though her heart was breaking. “I work for the CIA, remember?”
He pulled her tighter into his embrace, whispering into her ear, “Spend the night with me. Just. One. More. Night. A night of love to sustain me through the rest of my life. I promise to be gentle.” Tenderly he kissed her on her forehead avoiding any area that might be hurting from the attack.
Tears rolled down her bruised cheeks, “Of course, Your Majesty, it would be my pleasure.” The medical team stepped forward.
Chapter 12
Candace stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of her Malibu beach house, watching as the waves crashed against the tawny sand outside her living room, the warmth of the mug holding her herbal tea the only reminder she was still alive. A virtual zombie, she pined for Diyari every minute of every day. A rolling crack of thunder startled her out of her melancholy. Glancing up, she observed streaks of lightning forking across storm-darkened sky, their purple and black clouds bubbling like a witch’s cauldron. Continuous sets of pounding waves punished the storm-drenched beach. Rain ran in rivulets down the fogged glass between her and the ocean, drowning out the normally relaxing sounds of the waves.
She liked it that way.
Her big screen TV mounted over her fireplace droned on in the background, the news channel more a babysitter than anything else. She wasn’t capable of focusing any more. Not since she’d left B’Quara over three months ago. Not since she left him. Her insides knotted with a fierce craving for Diyari.
His hands. Oh, those long, strong fingers of his, ravaging her body to heights of unknown pleasure. She closed her eyes as the memories of their last night together rolled through her.
His mouth on her, stroking her, arousing her . . . satiating her. Kissing away the pain of her wounds.
His arms securely holding her when danger threatened or as a prelude to intimacy. Her breath whooshed out of her as all their ardent moments of lovemaking tumbled back like a movie in slow motion. Oh, how she desired to reenact those moments again. To bask in the afterglow of his love.
Nightfall became her worst enemy. When the house settled into a quiet and dark cocoon, her body pleaded for him — his empyrean invasion. Most nights, she strolled along the beach until she became so exhausted, she fell into bed for a dreamless sleep. But the yearning for him, combined with her pregnancy, was taking a toll, both mentally and physically. She reached down and cradled her stomach. His baby slept within her. His baby . . . the prince of B’Quara.
Jerking her thoughts to the present, she reminded herself of Jasmine’s advice. Jasmine said she needed to knock it off, to pull herself together, that they had work to do. In theory, she knew Jasmine was right. She just couldn’t make herself contemplate anything but him.
She’d heard nothing from him in the last three unbearable months. Not a phone call or a note, inquiring if she was still alive. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat. What had she expected? In actuality, the day he’d been crowned king, her life with him ended, sliced to death by his duty. “Duty,” she spat. She hated that word. Duty took her from the love of her life. Took her baby’s father away. Yeah, duty was a curse word in her vocabulary.
She’d suffered months of intolerable hell. Lord, grant her the strength to get through this, she prayed nightly.
Everything reminded her of Diyari. Just yesterday, she’d been rearranging furniture in her bedroom when the diamond bracelet he’d given her fell out from behind her dresser, where she’d thrown it the day she returned home. At first, she just stared at its shiny presence like a poisonous snake poised to strike. Tears filled her eyes, flowing over onto her cheeks. Angrily she wiped them away, scolding herself for being such a lovesick fool.
No putting a spin on it, that’s exactly what she was. A fool. He wasn’t going to call her or see her. He’d made that clear the entire time they were together. He had convictions and abided by them. She smiled. That was part of his appeal. His commitment to family and country.
When she finally worked up enough nerve to touch the bracelet, the tears streamed in earnest. Mentally crippled, she sat on the couch for hours, leering at it on the coffee table. Afraid of it, of what it stood for.
There was no one to blame but herself. Falling for a man who was unattainable. Who told her he was already committed to someone else. Jesus, she needed a shrink.
She was miserable. Defeated. Alone.
She sighed heavily. Maybe she should get her butt moving, get dressed, and go into work. He shoulders slumped with defeat. Yeah, maybe. Maybe tomorrow.
She’d lost a lot of weight. Morning sickness had a way of killing your appetite. Morning sickness wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t pester her all-day long. Most of her day was spent in the bathroom, clinging to the side of the toilet and vomiting her guts out. Her doctor told her it was essential she eat more. He advised her to try crackers and tea until her stomach could handle something more substantial.
She’d tried, without success. Oatmeal, boiled eggs, even dry toast. Nothing worked. Her stomach refused to allow anything to remain in it, no matter what she did. Jasmine said the morning sickness should subside soon, and she prayed Jasmine was right. She was getting too thin. Again, her hand slid across her belly. Poor baby, he or she was probably as hungry as she was. She picked up her pre-natal vitamins from the bathroom counter and shook one into her palm. Leaning over the faucet, she cupped her hand under the water and washed the behemoth pill down.
Forget about him, she admonished herself. Consecrate on your baby. That’s who needs you now. Put this off-the-charts love affair behind you. Jesus. How long did she intend to mope after the man? Face facts. It’s over. He made his choice. It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be her. There was no going back. He was king now. He’d done his duty, just like his sister warned her he would. If she hadn’t been so love-sick, she would have listened.
Her stomach churned, the daily nausea becoming worse. Pregnant with his baby. What a cruel joke her destiny had played on her. The gods were laughing at her now, remembering how she’d preached to him about having children, knowing she could never have his baby. How wrong they’d both been. How very wrong.
He’d never know.
She wasn’t about to tell him. She was permanently out of the picture. He and his queen deserved a chance at happiness. She wasn’t going to come back into his life and entangle all their lives again. No. She’d raise this baby on her own, and when he or she grew up and asked about a father, she’d lie. Make up something to placate the child’s curiosity. She’d make it work.
She had to.
She’d give her baby enough love for two parents. Make sure he or she wanted for nothing. A wave of nausea hit her.
The doorbell rang. She ignored it. She never answered the door anymore. She didn’t want company. Her stomach heaved. “Not again.” She ran for the bathroom, covering her mouth just in time to prevent spilling her stomach’s contents on the living room rug. Sticking her head into the toilet bowl, she heaved her guts.
“What the hell?”
That voice, that deep ultra-masculine voice broke into her misery.
Her mind was playing tricks on her dehydrated body. She was hearing things, hearing him. She closed her eyes, savoring the sound of his oh-so-masculine voice as memories encapsulated her.
His body bent over her and a large hand held her hair back as she continued to heave. “Candace, what’s wrong?”
OMG! This was no desert mirage. Diyari was kneeling next to her, in her bathroom, on the floor, his cologne surrounding her, making her head spin. The concern in his voice real. He was real. Flesh and blood. Her body tingled from head to toe.
Diyari.
Oh my God! Diyari! Here. In her house.
She lifted her head just enough to see him grab her pre-natal vitamins off the counter, read the label and stare back at her. The shock on his face was palatable. His eyes wide with questions.
“You’re pregnant?” His voice shook, but from what emotion? Anger or concern?
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her stomach was in her throat. And then she vomited again.
While she was heaving up the little bit of tea she’d drank, he soothed a hand across her back, sliding it up and down, rubbing comfort into her body. It felt good. Heavenly. She wanted it to continue until the stars fell from the sky. He was here. Right beside her. Her mind still rejected the possibility.
His stern voice broke into her daydream. “When were you going to tell me?” he demanded, anger snarling his disapproving words.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 25
